


somewhere only we know

by artsyleo



Series: comfortember 2020 [14]
Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Seaside, Self-Doubt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyleo/pseuds/artsyleo
Summary: comfortember prompt day 14 - road tripwriter callum/artist ben au where ben helps callum fight his writer's block with a little trip
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Series: comfortember 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995826
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	somewhere only we know

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much no tw needed its just fluff with hints of angst lmao

There’s a flat, tucked away in a little town somewhere, hidden through cobbled streets and stone buildings. Inconspicuous if you didn’t know it, next to flats and houses that look almost the same except for the front door, that’s painted a subtle blue, flowers creeping down from one corner. It’s an artist’s flat, anyone could see that, between the door and the stacks of cups full of paint brushes and pens along one windowsill, and books across another. It’s a house that you could pass by, if you didn’t look hard enough because the beauty, like with so many things in life, comes with the details- but Ben doesn’t. He knows the house much better than anyone passing on the street, knows the parts where you can feel the warmth from the fireplace next door through the walls, or hear the passing people in the street without even opening the windows. He knows the feeling of it so well, knows it because it’s not just a house but a home to him, along with the man that he knows resides with it, the man that holds his heart so dearly. 

He doesn’t even have to watch the houses pass as he walks for him to know where to turn in- he’s walked this route so many times that he knows it like the back of his hand. Instead he focuses on the warmth of the pastries in his hand from the cafe a couple of streets away, and lets that warmth fight off the cold wind that’s just beginning to seep through his coat. Eventually, he jumps up the couple of steps to the door, and turns the key in the lock, pushing the door open. The warmth inside the flat hits him immediately from where he’d put the heating on before he’d gone out and he sighs, a shiver going through him. He throws his keys into the little bowl on the side and toes his shoes off, walking through to the kitchen to put the pastries down, and startles when he realises the room isn’t empty like he had expected it to be. Instead, Callum’s sat at the other end of the little wooden kitchen table, head in his hands, laptop open in front of him and a couple of notebooks out across the surface. He doesn’t shift when Ben walks into the room, and for a minute Ben wonders if he’s fallen asleep where he’s sat. 

"Cal?” Ben calls out quietly, and Callum shifts his head up and blinks a couple of times. His eyes look tired, like he’s still on the edge of awake, but Ben can see the irritation and annoyance in them, and just hopes that it’s not aimed at him. 

“Morning,” Callum says, and offers him a little smile which calms something in him. 

“Wasn’t expecting you up yet,” Ben replies, and walks around to stand behind Callum’s chair, peering so that he gets a quick glance at the books around him. Each of them is scrawled with Callum’s handwriting, usually soft and neat, now scrawly and hurried, like he’s trying desperately to get words down before they escape him. He doesn’t focus enough to read them because he’s aware Callum doesn’t like him reading anything unless it’s done - and sometimes not even then - just appreciates the work in front of him, art through words in a way he could never do.

Callum sighs, and leans back into Ben’s chest, and Ben reaches a hand to stroke through his hair. “Yeah, woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, this is driving me insane.”

Ben doesn’t say anything for a minute, instead just content to let his hands smooth through Callum’s hair. 

“What is it you’re working on?” Ben asks, leaning forward to press a kiss to Callum’s temple. 

“Carrying on with that bit I read you a couple days ago, but it’s crap,” Callum says, slamming his laptop closed. “I can’t get anything out and everything I do makes no sense.” 

Callum sighs again, and Ben can just feel the irritation in the tensing of his shoulders, and the way his hands curl into fists where they’re resting on the table. 

“Sorry,” Callum says eventually. “Sorry, it’s just- infuriating.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it,” Ben says, because of course he does, he knows exactly what the pain of artist’s block is like. He’s suffered through weeks of it holed up in the attic, paints drying on the palette while he waits desperately for  _ something  _ to come to him. But he also knows that Callum’s often to take it harder than Ben does, because he’s already spent years thinking he shouldn’t be doing this. So every time he struggles to write those doubts come back to him, weaving fears into his thoughts and it breaks Ben’s heart to see it. 

It’s when he hears the faint squark of seagulls outside the window that the thought comes to him, and he smiles into Callum’s neck, before grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his chair. 

“Ben-” 

“Get dressed,” Ben says. “And grab a notebook, we’re leaving in ten minutes.” 

Callum smiles, genuinely, for the first time this morning. “What are you planning?” 

“That don’t matter, you’ll see. Just go and get ready,” Ben smiles, before pushing him gently towards the stairs, Callum laughing as he goes up. 

-

It takes them maybe half an hour in the car, along winding coastal roads, and it’s a drive Ben’s always loved. Callum’s hand stays wrapped in his on the gearstick almost the entire journey, and they sit in comfortable silence, one of Callum’s favourite CDs playing quietly in the background. He thinks it’s some 80s band that he vaguely recognises, but he spends more time focusing on Callum’s fingers in his and, when it’s safe to, the look of Callum in the mirror, gently nodding his head along to the music. Eventually though, Ben pulls into a familiar small car park on the top of a hill, with only one other car in it. It’s a tiny little place, one or two buildings in the valley that he can just about see, and the wide expanse of the ocean on the horizon. There’s still a hint of color in the sky from where the sun had risen earlier, and it reflects on the water in a way that makes him smile. Callum lets out a little laugh when he realises where they are, and squeezes Ben’s hand to make him look at him, their eyes catching. 

“Thank you,” Callum says quietly, a happy twinkle in his eyes that makes Ben want to paint him so badly, but that can wait. Callum needs this inspiration, this confidence in his work, more than him. 

“Come on, I’ve still got the pastries from earlier and I’m starving.” 

Calum lets out another laugh at that, and undoes his belt, grabbing a small rucksack from his footwell and shifting out of the car. 

The minute Ben gets out, the sea air is refreshing on his face and he takes a minute just to breathe it in, letting the cool air settle the restlessness that seems to hum under his skin. Callum’s at his side in seconds, connecting their hands again and pulling him towards the bench that’s just ahead of them. 

The wood’s cold underneath them when they both sit down, but it doesn’t bother Ben, not when he’s got this view- and he’s not just talking about the sea. Callum always looks completely at peace sitting here, and it never fails to fill Ben’s heart with something addictive, something that he’ll never stop craving. Ben tears his eyes away before he explodes, and opens up the package of pastries that are somehow still a little warm. 

“Here,” he says, offering Callum one which he takes with a grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” he says after a minute. “And not just for the pastry.” 

Ben nods, because the words don’t have to be said- he doesn’t need thanks for this. Sure, more than anything it’s to help Callum get back to writing but it’s not entirely selfless, because this way he gets to watch him work. 

“So what’s got you so worked up about it this morning, then?” he asks once they’ve both finished eating. “Thought you were giving yourself today off.” 

Callum sighs, and stares out at the horizon instead of looking at Ben. “David called last night.” 

He only needs to mention the name, and Ben’s already sighing. He doesn’t have to say anything for Callum to shoot him a look- he’s well aware of Ben’s feelings on his so-called publisher. Callum had met him a couple of weeks ago and had been over the moon about it, but the man hasn’t left him alone since, constantly pawing at him for new pieces. Ben thinks he’s an asshole, in short, and he  _ knows  _ Callum’s writing deserves so much better than that. 

“He just wanted to see how I was getting on, and he reminded me that I’m behind,” Callum says, and Ben shakes his head. 

“I don’t know  _ why  _ you put up with him. He’s an ass.” 

“I can’t exactly leave him, can I?” Callum replies, finally turning to look at him. “What if he’s all I’m going to get?” 

“That’s bullshit,” Ben says immediately. “Darlin’, I wish you could see yourself how I see you. Your writing is incredible, and I ain’t just saying that. You deserve so much better-  _ your writing  _ deserves so much better.” 

Callum huffs. “You’re biased.” 

“And I’d say the exact same thing if I wasn’t,” he responds immediately. God, if he had to he’d spend years telling Callum the same thing over and over, if only he was to believe him one day. He’s already been doing it for years, and every time it’s like the part of Callum that believes him grows. 

Callum doesn’t reply, just shakes his head at Ben and grabs his rucksack, pulling out an old blue notebook - his favourite apparently, the one Ben had gotten him for their six month anniversary - and a pen, and crossing his legs on the bench to start writing. 

They settle into the silence, and Ben’s content just to watch the sky as it moves, and the waves as they crash on distant rocks. He commits the image to memory, before his eyes switch round to watch Callum write. He’s fully in the zone now, hand going a mile a minute, and there’s no chance Ben will distract him. So he pulls out his own sketchbook and a pencil and settles in, soft lines on paper that can’t even come close to capturing the beauty that’s in front of him. 

They settle into the familiarity of this place, somewhere that feels purely theirs. 

**Author's Note:**

> okay i dont know where this came from but like just the idea of the two of them living in a tiny cottage in cornwall makes me so happy now   
> hope you enjoyed this, and comments/kudos mean the absolute world to me! stay safe lovely people, and feel free to hit me up on tumblr @artsy-highway :)  
> leo x


End file.
